


things are shaping up to be pretty odd

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bipolar Disorder, Craigslist, Fake Dating, Humor, M/M, Revenge, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Guest from Hell, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme Prompt: Matt (who ended up not finishing school and started Daredevil way earlier with no friends or livelihood or support system) ends up in jail for aggravated battery. Now he's out, semi-homeless and sleeping at Fogwell's, and desperately wants some good food, just for Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, Foggy wants to piss off his parents for Thanksgiving. He finds an intriguing offer from a pierced felon on Craigslist that might just do the trick.</p><p>Or</p><p>Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your parents? Read on. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is totally inspired by "Alone on Thankgiving? Mad at your dad? Read on. . .
> 
> Title is from That Green Gentleman by Panic at the Disco.
> 
> Warnings for: Implied mood/bipolar disorder, implied alcohol/drug abuse, smoking, homelessness, ableism, familial abuse. I promise this story will be cute and fun but also the setup for this AU is a little sad.

Before Matt got arrested for aggravated assault, his life was not exactly going as planned. For starters, he was a blind, high school dropout which made his job opportunities pretty thin on the ground. Despite getting his shit together enough to attain a GED when he was eighteen, this didn't translate to getting jobs. Most employers did not believe he was capable to work because he was blind, even though he knew even 'regular' blind people were perfectly able to do them. He was stuck in a vicious cycle of dull and meaningless temp jobs punctuated by the various vices and unpredictable mood swings that made him a dropout in the first place. Props to Stick for never teaching him to meditate.

His latest in the long line of temp jobs was working at a call center specializing in surveys. It was a huge waste of time - hardly anyone wanted to play along and the answers didn't really matter anyway. At night, the screams and cries of the city broke free of the neutral hum of daytime. The insomnia that plagued him worsened, especially when a family moved upstairs whose dad had a habit of raping his youngest daughter. Pulled taut by the universe heaping the luck of the Irish on his life, he snapped into the regretful decision of wearing a mask and beating the shit out of that dad in an alley.

Because life isn't a fucking comic book, his heritage followed him all the way into a jail cell. He got fired for not showing up to work because he couldn't make bail and before he knew it he was homeless, sleeping at Fogwell's out of the generosity of the owner and only able to procure a part time host job at an Italian place down the street. It paid for his phone bill, laundry money, food, and credit card debt, but not much else. At least it made him sober.

A week before Thanksgiving, he learned that his restaurant intended to close for the holiday. It had not occurred to him that he would be alone and sober that day - usually he was either working or drunk and eating microwave turkey in his apartment. As he showered in the gym that night, it struck him how tired he was of being alone. What he wouldn't give to have a hot meal and company on Thanksgiving, just this once.

Then, the most brilliant of insane shower thoughts came to him. Maybe just being himself would be enough to let him into the promised land.

\-------

Craigslist Post: November 20, 2008

Personals

Subject: Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at Your Parents? Read on... (m4w or m4m, midtown Manhattan)

It's Thanksgiving. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you're still single? Want grandma to complain about your boyfriend instead of your sexual orientation? Are you tired of your aunt asking when you're going to settle down and have children? Well, look no further!

I am a 20 year old blind felon with no high school degree and three piercings (2 ears, one eyebrow). I am currently living in the basement of a gym and I work part time at a pizza place. I can pass from 18-25 depending on if I shave. If you'd like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you to torment your family, I'm game.

I can do these things at your request:

-openly hit on guests while you act like you don't notice

-start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion (grew up Catholic so can accurately be very Catholic or very anti-Catholic at your request)

-propose to you in front of everyone

-'accidentally' hit every guest with my cane

-pretend to be drunk and/or high

-Start an actual physical fight with a family member either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest and transportation or directions to your home.


	2. Chapter 2

The traffic in Manhattan was hell on Thanksgiving. It was a mark of how deeply he disliked his mother's side of the family that he was willing to pick up a total stranger to piss them off. Curse his dad for planning Nelson Thanksgiving on Friday so he and his sisters could go be with their mom and awful stepfamily in upstate New York. What he had ever seen in Rosalind Sharpe was a mystery.

Hating his biological mother was not something Foggy was proud of, but she brought it upon herself. Her and her snooty step kids and rich husband and no phone calls and missed birthdays and insults and. . .and he had finally arrived at the address the hopefully-not-murderer had told him to be.

Foggy scanned the sidewalk; sure enough a blind man not older than twenty was leaning on the front wall of Fogwell's gym. His cane was resting on the wall within reach of his left hand. In his right, he held a cigarette and was coolly smoking. The faded sleeveless shirt he was wearing had a skull on the front, and his jeans were torn and tight. His tennis shoes were scuffed and dirty, his hair was messy and slightly greasy, he was unshaven, and his piercings were not inconspicuous.

He was very good-looking in a too-thin gutter-punk sort of way. Rosalind was gonna hate him.

Foggy rolled down his window. "Matt? It's Foggy. From Craigslist. I'm here to come get you!"

"Oh, hi! Just a second." He threw the cigarette on the ground, and crushed it with his shoe. Then he picked up his cane. "Can you call out again so I can find your car?"

"I'm in this one."

Matt tapped over until he reached the car. He held out his hand to shake, a gesture of politeness that was surprising from someone who appeared so hardened. "Nice to meet you, Foggy. Where can I sit?"

Foggy shook his hand. "There's room up front."

A few cars were starting to beep now at Foggy's right blinker. "I'll hurry before one of those guys behind you takes matters into his own hands," said Matt, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. He got in the car, and pulled his cane in too. "Can I put this in the backseat?"

"Sure, man. There's nothing back there."

"Thanks." He proceeded to deposit it onto the backseat a little too carefully.

Foggy snorted. "Don't worry about being gentle. My mom is loaded and this awesome car is her worst one. You can even smoke in here if you want."

Matt contemplated the suggestion for a moment, looking a little uncomfortable. "Are you rich too?"

"Nah. She and my dad got divorced when I was three. My dad works at a hardware store. Rosalind wasn't rich when they met - one of those upwardly mobile types. I don't see any of this money."

A small look of relief washed over Matt's face. He rolled down the window, and pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. He deftly lit it, slid the lighter back into his pocket, and took a long drag. On exhale, he blew smoke right into the car. His subsequent grin was one of someone who took great pleasure in giving the finger to anyone who deserved it. Foggy's heart skipped a beat in a very non-platonic way. Dammit, he was a sucker for rebels.

Matt took another long drag on his cigarette and mischievously said, "Tell me more about your family."

Tonight was gonna be fucking fantastic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of love and feedback I get from this fandom is genuinely insane. It's honestly something I have never experienced before and I am a little overcome with gratitude. Every comment fills me with glee - thank you so much to everyone who has commented, kudos'd, and subscribed. School is a little overwhelming right now and my life is a bit stressful right now for other reasons so the little pleasures in life are very important to me.
> 
> You can read the rough cut of the chapters here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/5006.html?thread=10399374#cmt10399374
> 
> I like posting on the kink meme first as a way to get my thoughts down. I clean it up before I bring it to AO3.

The drive into upstate New York was a surprisingly pleasant one. Foggy was a great road-trip companion, full of enthusiasm and infectious laughter. He had something entertaining to say about all of his relatives, save for his mother who he clearly loathed. Matt was eager to meet her. The opportunity to ruin Thanksgiving day for some rich bitch was a gift in and of itself.  
  
Eventually, their gossip about Foggy's family wound down to a comfortable lull in conversation. Matt turned the radio on, and flipped through to the alternative channel. 'Basket Case' blasted through the radio at top volume, startling the both of them.  
  
"Shit, I'm sorry!" He hurriedly turned down the radio to a manageable volume.  
  
Foggy began to laugh so hard he wheezed. "Your face! Make sure to remind me when we turn off the car to turn the volume to high. I wanna see Rosalind have that same look when the music hits her."  
  
The laughter was infectious; Matt succumbed to it too. "Wish I could see it. Sounds like it would be priceless."  
  
"Yeah that is kind of a bummer. If she makes it while you're there, I'll be sure to narrate." Foggy wiped tears out of his eyes; their salt colored the air around him.  
  
An unexpected response - usually people brushed his comments about his own blindness right off. Foggy hadn't missed a beat with his offer, and his body didn't display any discomfort either. Matt's highest hopes for this trip were that he wouldn't be raped and murdered; somehow he had met a genuinely nice person.  
  
The car bumped on the road, jostling the swiss army knife in his pocket. Matt shoved his hand in there, and ran his thumb over the fanned edge. He wasn't stupid enough to completely let his guard down.   
  
"I'll hold you to that offer," he said, sliding the knife to a deeper place in his pocket. His appearance was already intentionally intimidating; if Foggy knew he had a weapon, he might not hesitate to call the police and blame him for whatever he wanted. It wasn't exactly like Matt had a clean record before his stint in prison as a felon for aggravated assault; he could easily be accused of sex work with little evidence and he didn't have $500 bail this time to get him out.   
  
"Who is that, anyway?" asked Foggy, interrupting his train of thought. "On the radio. They sound familiar"  
  
"Green Day." One of his favorite songs too.   
  
"Oh!" said Foggy, his voice brightening in recognition. "Yeah, I know them. Their music was at my prom, Wake Me Up or whatever that song was."  
  
"That's a weird song to have at a prom," said Matt, grinning. "I mean, I've never been to one but it seems like a weird choice."  
  
"Looking back, it was definitely strange, but at the time it was on the radio and we loved it. My friend group at the time, we were all a bunch of baby gays and bisexuals going to prom with the opposite gender and then sneaking off with our real crushes to make out under the bleachers. We felt like rebels, and the music enabled us." Foggy's face and voice grew warm - nostalgia.  
  
"Sounds like a great time."  
  
"It was. So. . .did you drop out before prom, then?" he asked hesitantly. Matt sighed. The topic had to come up eventually.  
  
"I dropped out right after I turned seventeen."  
  
"Why?"  
  
They were at the point in the conversation where Matt usually told the person to mind their own damn business. However, Foggy had already been so honest with him that it didn't seem fair to resent his questions or lie.  
  
"I started drinking too much and getting into a lot of fights. Got suspended a few times. Didn't do anything - I don't have parents to discipline me for not being in school. I was good at my classes but I knew I was close to expulsion and I felt powerless to stop it. Didn't want to stop drinking, couldn't stop fighting. So. . .I quit."  
  
"Do you regret it?"  
  
Matt grimaced. "Yeah. But hindsight is 20/20. The only time that my vision is perfect."  
  
"Ha! Good one. . ."  
  
"In 0.1 miles, the destination is on your right," chirruped the GPS. Foggy's heart began to race with anxiety.  
  
"We didn't discuss what we were doing when we got there," said Matt, redirecting the thoughts of his new friend. "How do you feel about tongue kissing on the front lawn? Really rub how serious our relationship is right in your relatives' faces."  
  
Foggy's heart didn't slow down, but his muscles relaxed slightly.   
  
"Sure," he said, shakily. "Let's make a real splash."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gutter-punk Matt is hard for Green Day and nobody will tell me otherwise. 
> 
> "Sometimes I give myself the creeps / Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me / It all keeps adding up / I think I'm cracking up / Am I just paranoid? / Or am I just stoned?" This speaks to him, ok. 
> 
> Also if you want a feel for how I feel about the tone of this story you should listen to Panic at the Disco's album "Pretty. Odd." Also in general you should listen to it because it's very underrated. I think probably neither character listens to that band but it reminds me of upbeat crazy love and well-orchestrated chaos.
> 
> ETA: Tru story, my first slow dance was to "Wake Me Up When September Ends" which dates me, I know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy balls, you guys. 100 kudos in three days? That is NUTS. Thank you, all of you. I am literally just writing this as I go based on all the tropes of all the fake dating fics I have ever read (hint: WAY TOO MANY YOU GUYS) so thanks for appreciating my off-the-cuff unplanned tropey idfic. I hope you guys are as excited as I am to go through all the same motions that every fake dating fic goes through. Ludicrous behavior! Angst! Willing yourself to stop having feelings because how foolish you are to think the other person might like you!
> 
> Will they ever get together at the end??????????????
> 
> (Yes.)
> 
> I really didn't want to have a two day lag on this because I am so passionate about this goofy thing but after midterms I felt like I had the worst hangover for like two days and I was too tired to write. Sorry about that! I'm thinking maybe I'll write more and post more later today but don't hold me to it.

Foggy was good at playing the rebel when his family couldn't see, but standing up to them in person was another matter entirely. Rosalind's disapproving eyes weren't a specter he could shake despite pretending they no longer bothered him. In his dreams, she said the words she never dared to say out loud: "You are not my son."

As the two of them pulled into the driveway, Foggy broke out into a cold sweat. He put the car in park, and exhaled forcefully. Maybe this was an awful idea. Maybe this would be the nail in the coffin of his relationship with his mother. Maybe-

Matt reached over, and squeezed his hand.It was calloused and warm, grounding. "Ready?"

Fuck Rosalind. "Definitely."

Foggy peered out the side windows to scope out the party.The numerous busybodies in the enormous front lawn were staring and whispering in the general direction of the car. Foggy couldn't help but giggle.

"What?" said Matt, grinning mischievously as though he could sense exactly what was happening.

“You’re already the star of the show, man. All of the old biddies are sizing you up.”

Matt threw his head back in a bark of a laugh. “Fantastic. Well, let’s really give them something to talk about.”

He leaned back, and grabbed his cane from the backseat. The end of it hit a side window with a loud thunk as he pulled it forward. Foggy attempted to stifle his laughter, but couldn’t help to emit a squeak.

“Oh, God. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep a straight face for all of this.”

“You won’t have to,” said Matt, gripping the door handle. “Just remember that you’re crazy in love with a fucked up felon and anything weird you do will be attributed to my bad influence.”

The besotted part at least wouldn’t be hard to pull off. Matt was handsome and charming in spite of his checkered past and reserved demeanor. He was rebellious for good reasons and didn’t let anyone fuck with him. In another lifetime, one where Matt hadn’t been kicked so hard by life that he was buried in dirt and debt, they might have actually fallen in love.

A little voice in Foggy’s head suggested that he might be falling in love anyway. He brushed it aside. This date was purely platonic. The whole point of the ad was that someone poor with a messed up life just wanted a nice meal. Matt had enough problems without someone trying to take advantage of him too.

“Let’s do this,” said Foggy in a voice that hopefully implied he was on a very serious mission and totally not crushing on the guy he was about to tongue-fuck on his mother’s front lawn.

Matt let go of his hand to open the door; Foggy’s felt strangely cold and empty without it. The door slammed behind Matt as though he would have liked nothing better to smash it entirely. He swaggered away from the car as much as someone with a cane could. Foggy ran around the back end and caught up with him. Matt pulled Foggy towards him by the hand like a skilled dancer and lined their bodies up until every inch was touching. This close, Foggy could smell him, cigarettes and sweet musk, and his heart rose in his throat.

“Are you having second thoughts?” murmured Matt into Foggy’s mouth. Anyone who saw would think they were kissing already. “If this is too far, that’s ok.”

Foggy answered by closing the gap between their lips.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom continues to give me incentive to not drop any of my projects like the scattered person I am. I actually really appreciate it because I have too many projects that I ran out of steam for because I knew nobody cared so thanks. Again, I am incredibly grateful and flattered.
> 
> ALSO
> 
> Holy shit there are TWO ARTS. Both cw for smoking and mattmurderdocks' for self-harm depiction. I incorporated that into the story because why not I have no idea where this thing is going and it is a great headcanon that I honestly was shying away from until this art Spoke To Me and was like 'yes child. listen to your heart.'
> 
> http://mattmurderdocks.tumblr.com/post/132788083398/banging-on-your-door-hello-yes-have-you-read  
> http://edgebugart.tumblr.com/post/132502148056/anatomikal-look-at-what-my-frand-edgebugart
> 
> Sorry for the lag on updates for this very short fic. I've been dealing with some stuff *coughmaniacough* and it has made me all over the place in writing and in life. I have aspirations of keeping a regular update schedule but don't we all? 
> 
> CW for this chapter in particular: self-harm implication & scars

Foggy’s lips were soft and gentle when they met his. It was very sweet, but not at all what Matt was hired for. He threaded his fingers through Foggy’s long hair (smelled amazing - some sort of floral shampoo) and deepened the kiss to something quasi-pornographic. His spit coated Foggy’s chin, and the shameless thrusting of his tongue left nothing to the imagination.

Truthfully, he hated kissing like this - he’d been on the receiving end of it many times before and it was not pleasant. However, it got the message across to its intended audience. The hearts of the elderly women nearby were fluttering. Foggy was making obscene noises, far too exaggerated to be natural. He dropped his cane, groped at Foggy’s ass, and stuck his thumb under the waistband to really prove his point. One of the nearby women let out a quiet gasp and it was all Matt could do to not laugh.

Shortly after, Foggy came up for air and touched his forehead to Matt’s. He was panting heavily. Matt swiped his index finger over Foggy’s chin to clean off some spit, and obscenely sucked on his finger. At that, one of the women (tall, rigid back, tight bun, fresh scent perfume) marched over. Her heels were not sensible and slowed down the sound of her fury a little as she marched through the grass.

“What is the meaning of this?” she said in a shrill voice. Foggy pulled away quickly and turned around to look at the woman. His body tensed. “Who is this?”

This must be Rosalind. Matt gave her a shit eating grin and wrapped his arm around Foggy’s waist. He stroked Foggy’s side a little as a sign of comfort.

“I’m Matt,” he said. “Foggy’s boyfriend of about, what is it babe? A year?”

“Yeah,” breathed Foggy. “We are very serious. . .and very in love.”

Not a very convincing performance. Matt didn’t mind doing the heavy lifting here though - it was after all what he was hired for.

“You must have great genetics because Foggy gets me going and he has to get that from somewhere. Can’t see him worth shit,” he said, pointing to his glasses. “But he’s great in bed. Fist bump?” He held out his fist.

There was a long moment of silence as Rosalind considered a response. It wasn’t hard to imagine her internal debate. On the one hand her son had brought home the antithesis of everything she stood for. On the other hand, that man was blind and there were social niceties attached around disabled people.

God, this was fantastic.

“Not into fist bumps, Mrs. Sharpe? How about a low five?”

He had been told that the scars on his arms were faint, but whether or not this was true didn’t really matter as long as they were there. Putting them on display this early was a bold move, but Matt didn’t do anything half-ass. If he did, there wouldn’t be this many in the first place.

Rosalind grabbed his hand and pretended he was going on to shake hers.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt,” she lied. “Franklin didn’t tell me he was dating anybody. Or bringing them along to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I must have forgotten. You don’t call very much so it can be hard to keep you updated on what’s going on in my life.”

Both of their voices were ice cold. Matt shivered a little from it. Or, more likely, it was from the weather. It was warm for November but still chilly and Matt hadn’t packed a coat because he didn’t have one.

“Foggy has told me so much about you,” he said. “How warm and loving you are to him. Must run in the family.” He repressed another shiver as the wind blew on him. The city hadn’t been this cold today.

“Are you cold, honey? I can get you a coat from the attic. A lot of my stuff is up there.”

Matt picked up his cane. “Sure, babe. That sounds great.”

As the two of them walked off, Matt could practically hear Rosalind’s silent fuming. The thought alone warmed him up almost as much as Foggy’s jacket.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been somehow three weeks since I updated this and unfortunately this update isn't very long. It's been sitting in my drafts for a while just hanging out so I cleaned it up a bit and I'm going to post it. Sorry for the lag in updates! I didn't forget about all of you. I've just been very busy.

The inside of the Sharpe house was decorated lavishly. Gold and silver tinsel was wrapped around the spiraling centralized staircase. The house was lit with a pale glow; lamps were covered with circular lampshades to direct their light in this way. Wreaths were hung up on every wall, and decorations were on the mantelpieces - snowmen, little Santa Clauses, trite Christmas sayings. From the large entrance hall, Foggy could see the living room. It had a fireplace, currently roaring, and three stockings above it - all for Rosalind’s step-children.

None of the decorations or presents were meant for Foggy or his sisters.

Matt was gripping onto his arm with cold fingers. His confidence and irreverence from outside faded away as they walked quietly through this unfamiliar setting. His steps were light and his back was arched as though he was readying himself for escape. It struck Foggy that he should probably fill up this silence to make Matt feel less uncomfortable.

“It’s good that you can’t see this house, because I think you would hate it,” joked Foggy.

Matt smiled, shoulders relaxing. “What’s it like?”

“Too big for the amount of people here. And the decorations are very gaudy. Probably considered a sin in some parts of the world.”

“Greed is one of the seven deadly sins.”

“Drilled into your head in Catholic school?” He stopped walking; they had reached the stairs.

“It sticks with you,” said Matt. “Why did we stop? Stairs?”

“Stairs.”

“How many steps?”

Foggy squinted at the spiraling staircase and counted. “Twenty.”

Matt nodded. “Lead the way.”

Foggy stepped onto the first one and Matt followed. “Careful. They’re slatted stairs - you could get caught.”

“Guess your mom must not be used to having blind people in the house,” said Matt. He raised his cane higher to keep it out of the way. In the dim lighting the faint scars on his arms (thin lines parallel to his wrist as well as small puncture marks, Jesus) stood out. Foggy hadn’t really noticed them until Matt had brandished them like a weapon at his mother. Now, Foggy couldn’t help but notice even more. Both forearms had them, not just one, and they were numerous. He looked pointedly in the other direction as an alternative to staring at them any longer. Just because Matt couldn’t see him didn’t mean it was ok to treat him like a spectacle.

“Nobody is disabled on her side of the family. All of them are healthy as horses. They will live to be a hundred out of spite,” he finally replied, trying to not sound disdainful.

“Try to contain your excitement, Foggy," said Matt, grinning. "I counted twenty. Are we at the landing?"

"Yeah, we are. Step carefully so you don’t fall through. This step has a bigger gap than the others."

"Has anyone ever fallen through these stairs?" asked Matt thoughtfully.

Foggy had been fourteen, pudgy, and awkward. Back then, Rosalind had visiting rights and she liked to keep up pretenses. His bedroom, unnaturally neat as though prepared for a house showing, was upstairs. Rosalind had demanded him to wash his bedspread and to hurry. Frightened of her scolding if he did not listen, he had run up the stairs. On the third step, his leg fell through and he got lodged in place. Rosalind did not find him for an hour in that huge house, and when she did he got no sympathy. Instead, she told him he wouldn't have gotten stuck if he was thinner, and left him to work his way out on his own.

“I did,” said Foggy. “It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

Matt nodded, mercifully not asking further questions. The two of them walked down the hall a few steps until they were directly below the attic. Foggy stood on his toes, and pulled down on the string that would open it up. He yanked on the ladder attached to the wall with two hands, and it landed with a small thunk at his feet. Matt reached forward and touched the rungs of the ladder. Before Foggy could ask if Matt needed help, his friend hand scampered up into the attic much faster than he probably should have been able.

 


End file.
